* * * * *
Lilith glanced at Sargatanas and thought he had never seemed more preoccupied. He was at once attentive and loving but consumed, as well, with the minutiae of state. He had an army to create—even greater than before—and time was running short. Accompanied by Zoray and a cohort of his Foot Guard, he and Lilith, after reviewing the remaining legions just outside the gates, ascended along the Rule from the tangle of the Acheron's bank-side streets up toward the distant palace. On either side of the avenue, souls and demons alike knelt silently, staring at the two white figures in wonderment.
These were the days that she would long for, Lilith knew, even as, like jewels falling one by one from a broken necklace, they fell away. Though Adamantinarx was in a bustling state of mobilization, she and Sargatanas managed to keep constant company, to go from site to site and watch the mustering city at its finest. Part of her sensed that he was bringing her along not only out of love but also to familiarize her with the workings of the great city. In some place in her mind she wondered if he was grooming her for some role in the city.
Walking next to the demon lord, Lilith found it difficult not to descend into melancholia; the thought of his possible impending loss—through either the attainment of his goal or his destruction on the battlefield—was so daunting. And the third alternative—a hollow victory wherein he simply returned to his city, unfulfilled—worried her nearly as much. She did not want to feel dependent upon him, but that possibility was becoming truth. The pushing and pulling of her conflicting desires—her own admittedly selfish hunger for him against her urge to help him attain his goal—confused her. Perhaps it was just the vapors blowing off the Acheron that had made her so low spirited.
As they entered the palace precincts, a messenger approached Zoray, saluted, and spoke briefly as they walked. When he departed, the Demon Minor turned to Sargatanas.
'My lord, we are still coming up short on the numbers of souls. Mago and his commanders have informed me that they are able to field only nineteen full legions ... not even close to what you had hoped for.'
Sargatanas looked up at the sky and sighed. 'We need to be ready to march the moment our allies' armies arrive. Begin to take down the buildings.'
'My lord ... ?'
'And conscript the workers as well. Mago will know how to integrate them into the soul army. Every soul who survived the Flaming Cut should be put in charge of a new cohort.'
'But, my lord, the city's buildings ... ?'
'Are a resource to be used. Start with the domiciles, destroying those within, then the shops, then the bigger buildings, and so on until we have the numbers we need. And, Zoray, use the palace as well.'
They resumed walking. Zoray looked confounded.
'My lord ... you are sacrificing Adamantinarx?'
'The city can be rebuilt ... but not with souls. There is plenty of native stone out there to be quarried.'
'And the number of souls is to remain as high as you had first said?'
'Yes. We are marching on the capital of Hell, Zoray, not some insignificant ward of Astaroth's.'
Zoray nodded and then saluted. Breaking away from the procession, he hurried ahead and disappeared amidst the streams of legionaries that were heading down to join the gathering legions.
Lilith, who had overheard the exchange, moved closer to Sargatanas and placed her hand on his forearm.
'What's to become of the souls who return?'
'They can do as they please ... within limits. Limits that I'll leave up to you. They can build their own cities out in the Wastes or live in what's left of this one.'
'Why not decide their future yourself?'
'Because I don't love them the way you do, Lilith,' he said simply.
'Not even Hannibal?'
'Perhaps Hannibal,' he admitted with a grin.
The party entered the palace, splitting apart, with the Foot Guard and other functionaries leaving Sargatanas and Lilith to head up the giant staircase to his chambers on their own. Without a word they took each other's hands and the gentle, reassuring squeeze that he gave her brought a smile to her lips. The day's great meal was being prepared, but she looked forward to feeding their other hungers beforehand.
* * * * *
Something was subtly different; that much was clear. Whether it was the pall of the deconstruction that gripped the city, her sadness over Valefar's absence, her own unease at the prospect of losing Sargatanas, or something more ineffable, she could not positively say. Sitting at the ancient, long table amidst the many noisy demons of Sargatanas' court, Lilith watched the enormous joints of Abyssal meat slowly turning over a wide pit- fire and felt only the weight of change. But beyond that, she could not shake the sense that something
Sargatanas' feasting hall was aglow in the copper light of a dozen tall four-legged braziers that were placed evenly around the central table. A running mural framed the wide room, depicting continuous scenes of ancient hunts with Sargatanas himself wielding famous weapons and joined by equally famous demons. Normally Lilith's gaze would travel upward to that mural, but this evening she focused on her plate, only glancing up to look at someone when she was addressed.
Seated across from her and Sargatanas and next to Andromalius were Put Satanachia and his Prime Minister, Pruslas. The Demon Major was, in this time of unrest, a welcome guest and easily the most powerful of her lord's allies. Satanachia was, she thought, extraordinarily refined, robed in layers of thin, nacreous flesh and delicate spines, his moving features fine and ascetic, reflecting what Sargatanas had once described as the 'nobility of the Highest Order of Seraphim.' The timing of his arrival could not have been better; not surprisingly, Lilith had learned that Sargatanas, Satanachia, and Valefar had known one another in the Above and had been regarded as inseparable. Satanachia was an engaging demon, exuberant in his storytelling, effortlessly pouring forth tales of
